Joe was distraught at losing his beloved eldest sister. ‘Fifty-six,’ he breathed in total disbelief, once able to voice his sorrow at all. ‘There’s all manner of evil bastards walking the earth, what kind of a God takes a woman like our Gus?’
‘I’ve never been able to make sense of that,’ replied Nell softly, their daughter at her friend’s, and so just the two of them in the house to share the doleful atmosphere. ‘I can only suppose it’s because she was so very good that she was taken prematurely.’ Her mind went to Bill, who had died a hero.
‘The good die young,’ said a bitter Joe, ripping off his funereal coat. ‘I’ve always thought that was a bloody stupid saying.’
Feeling personally belittled, Nell murmured a postscript. ‘Well, I’m very sorry all the same. She was lovely to me.’
‘She was lovely to all of us,’ said a red-eyed Joe. ‘There’ll never be anybody to live up to Gus.’
Least of all me, thought Nell. In some ways, the past six years since her marriage had been some of the happiest she had known, with good living, and an abundance of laughter with her husband and daughter. Yet those years had also been marred by the sporadic visits to the doctors, to be treated like a nuisance, or even worse pitied and told, ‘Better luck next time.’ It was as if her body were saying, You might try to forget about William, but I haven’t.
So embarrassing had these appointments become, that Nell had decided some time ago not to make any more. If a baby did happen, she would feel him moving, without needing this confirmed by a doctor. Perhaps the devout Gussie would put in a good word for her with the Creator. It was a selfish thought, with the entire Kilmaster family so bereft. But it was for Joe’s sake she prayed, as her eyes turned to him now in his deep despair. He was never more in need of uplifting news.
Sadly, although Nell’s body grew plumper by the month, as if playing host, it was obviously due to the profusion of good food and confectionery, and she was never to feel that movement from within. The only thing she did experience was a sense of failure. Her monthly cycle, which had always been irregular, was now giving even more cause for concern, for upon calculation Nell found that a whole year had gone by with nothing in that department, without her realising it. Hence, she was finally to cave in and visit the doctor again, just to put her own mind at rest that there was nothing seriously wrong.
Fearing cancer, she was quickly disabused of this notion by the GP, who said she was as healthy and robust a specimen as he had seen. ‘I suspect it’s the menopause,’ he told her.
Nell jumped visibly – she had not even considered this. ‘But I’m only thirty-eight!’
He gave a sympathetic shrug. ‘It happens, Mrs Kilmaster, particularly if a woman begins menstruating late.’
Her eyes had begun to mist over at the blow he had delivered. ‘I was almost seventeen.’
‘That might be it then.’ He scribbled it down on her record sheet. ‘Or else it could be some trauma. I’ve known a woman’s periods to stop dead after a particular shock. Have you suffered any traumatic event?’
Nell remained dazed, through a tunnel hearing herself say, ‘Only the same one that millions of others went through.’
The doctor guessed she referred to the war, and could offer no explanation. ‘Well, I’m very sorry, but I doubt that after a year your cycle will restart …’
And with that, Nell found herself on the way home to give Joe the bad news.
Staring at herself in the mirror, as she waited to convey the awful verdict, she began to make partings in her dark brown hair, searching for a hint of grey. But there was none. No wrinkles either, save for a few laughter lines around her eyes, eyes that were bright and clear, and her complexion as fresh as a girl’s. How could this large healthy specimen, seemingly built for motherhood, be such a useless vessel? Her sense of emptiness at the thought of never bearing another child was eclipsed by concern for Joe. For that was the main reason he had married her. It was awful enough having to wipe that look of eager expectancy from one’s husband’s face yet again; but when on this occasion it would be forever … Nell turned away from the mirror, a complete failure.
But, oh well, never mind, was all Joe conveyed with his silent shrug when he came in from work, after she had given him that familiar shake of her head. Such non chalance, though, was before he knew it was final. What would his reaction be when he knew? Dreading the moment, she was happy for Nina to deter it, at the moment trying to persuade her father to buy a newer television set.
‘See, if we had ITV, Dad, you’d have so much extra to watch.’
‘You mean you wouldn’t have to traipse round to Shirley’s to watch Oh Boy! and we’d be inflicted with that bloody Cliff Richard and his sneery lip round here.’
‘No! There’s Rawhide and all sorts what you’d like.’
‘Neen, it isn’t just the set! I’d have to pay for an extra aerial as well …’
And on it went, until Nell pointed out it was bedtime, and their daughter bounded off.
Joe chuckled at his wife, and picked up the Radio Times to consult the schedule. ‘I think she might be right for once, we could do with more choice … so, no luck at the doctor’s then?’
Nell braced herself to give him the worst. ‘Apparently I’m in the change.’
Joe looked up sharply, a gamut of emotions taking turns on his face – those same emotions that had assaulted Nell. He even voiced the same words. ‘But you’re only thirty-eight!’
Nell gave a despairing nod to the man who was fifteen years her senior, but now, all of a sudden, it was she who had become the elder: old and useless. ‘It happens to some women. They start late and finish early. Just our luck for me to be one of them. I’m really sorry, Joe.’ Her eyes filled with tears, not for herself, but for him.
He rose then, and came to put his arm round her, and said cheerfully, ‘It’s not your fault.’
She laid her head on his shoulder for a while, murmuring into his warm hard flesh. ‘No, but you must feel dreadful. You thought you were marrying this nubile young creature, and instead you’ve bought a pig in a poke.’
‘You daft twillock, I never regarded you as some … brood mare!’ With a ripple of sympathy, and compassion in his eyes, his arm tightened around her, trying to rally her spirits. ‘What do I want with another bairn anyway? We’re happy enough with the one we’ve got, aren’t we?’
‘I am,’ said Nell, not lifting her face. ‘But I know how much you wanted a son …’
He shrugged. ‘Well, if it’s not to be, there’s no good moaning over it. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just one o’ them things.’ With a last reassuring clasp, he released her. ‘And think of it this way, we’d only have had to move for the extra bedroom if we did have a lad, and we wouldn’t really want that after all the hard work we’ve put in.’ He fell into his chair and resumed his scrutiny of the Radio Times. ‘Now, let’s see if there’s anything good on …’
But Nell guessed he was not really concentrating on the lists of programmes – even though he was scanning the page as if he were – but was peering into the darkness of his mind, in search of the son he would never have.
16
Not one word of blame had been cast, but it was as if a page had been turned in their marriage. Whether or not it was in Nell’s imagination, their lovemaking seemed less hearty after her announcement. It was as if, thought Nell, Joe no longer regarded her as a woman, and so not worthy of the effort, even though he still went through the motions from time to time; it would have been too blatant not to. But she had no right to accuse him of neglect, of putting all his energy into garden beds, and tending lawns, and building a shed in which to hide away, for she was the one who had brought this about, the one who had failed him. Besides, speaking for herself, now that the pressure to bear a son had been irrevocably lifted, Nell was otherwise generally happy. And so was Nina, that was the main thing. For, having come to terms with the fact that she would remain his only child, Joe seemed to accept h
er for what she was: a girl.
Despite the fatherly teasing and little gifts and chats, though, Nell could sense a gap between them, whereas the lack of blood relationship between Nina and herself was proving no handicap at all. They could not have been closer.
‘We’re just like twins,’ joked thirteen-year-old Nina as they sat side by side on the couch with their frizzy home perms, yellow dirndl skirts and white blouses.
‘Apart from the Billy Stampers.’ Joe smiled at the artificial tattoos on his daughter’s thin wrists.
‘And the stink.’ Nina raised an armpit to sniff suspiciously beneath. ‘Pooh, I smell just like Mrs Stewart.’
‘Well, you’re growing up,’ her mother said kindly, both parents sharing a fond chuckle, for although she might be growing upwards, Nina remained as sticklike as before. ‘Remember, I said you’ll have to pay more heed to your hygiene now. Have a good wash before bed, then rub some of my Odo-Ro-No under your arms.’
With Nina inserting one last stitch into the length of fabric with enormous gingham squares of russet, Joe tried to show an interest. ‘What’s that you’re making, a tablecloth?’
‘A skirt!’ She regarded her dinosaur of a father with mild contempt.
‘It’s the fashion, Joe,’ explained Nell.
‘Oh, pardon me.’
‘Right, I’m off to bed!’ Nina bounced off the couch, then adjusted her stockings, which had bagged at the knee.
‘Er, do you mind?’ asked her father, at the glimpse of suspenders.
‘It’s only you and Mam,’ laughed the girl, smoothing down her paper nylon petticoat. Then, as if remembering, she wheeled to make a request. ‘Er, Mam, can I wear your high heels when I go into town tomorrow?’ Up to now, she had only been allowed the most modest of elevation. ‘Shirley’s mam’s lending her hers.’
Nell consulted Joe. ‘I don’t see why not, do you, Dad?’
‘I don’t know why you’re asking me.’ He gave an amused sigh. ‘You women always have your own way.’
But it had been said with affection, and when, the next day, he watched his daughter mince down the path alongside her more well-developed friend, he was to laugh until he cried, for Nina’s legs were like twigs, and the mushroom suede high heels only served to exaggerate their thinness. ‘There’s Shirley looking like a young Sophia Loren, and our Neen like Minnie Mouse!’ Pulling out a handkerchief, he was hardly able to speak from mirth. ‘Eh, God love the poor little bugger … Should she be that thin at her age? Maybe she needs a tonic.’
From the inference that she was not a good enough mother, Nell’s own amusement paled. ‘I feed her well enough! She’s just slender like you.’
Joe patted his belly, the top button of his trousers undone after a heavy lunch. ‘Not so slender these days, I’m afraid.’ Then he gazed again at his daughter’s willowy figure as she went through the gate, and his voice was wistful. ‘She’s not really like her mother at all, is she? Apart from her blonde hair.’
Nell looked startled. Her husband rarely said anything like this. Personally, she was glad to have few reminders that someone else had given birth to this dear child. But, ‘Even that’s got a little bit of you in it,’ she said, of its reddish tinge.
Joe nodded thoughtfully, then said on impulse, ‘Take her to town next week and get her some shoes more befitting her legs – get yourself an outfit as well.’ Here he turned to smile at Nell. ‘She’ll probably have your heels wrecked by the time she’s tottered over them cobblestones in town.’
The donor was not too bothered about that, but she was to buy her daughter some high heels of her own the following Saturday, taking advantage of Shirley being away on holiday. Such outings had become a rare treat, for these days Nina seemed to prefer the company of her close pal to her mother. Lately, too, Nina had become more secretive, retiring to her room on an evening. Nell had offered mild complaint to her husband about this, saying, ‘I can’t think what she finds to do up there.’ But Joe, of course, had not cared less, so long as his belly was attended, and told her not to take it personally. For, as she had said herself, Nina was growing up. Nell had tried, but could not help taking it to heart, which was why she intended to make the most of this outing by spending the whole day in town, with lunch in a restaurant, and girlish chat throughout.
It was a changed York from the one of her youth, at least on the surface. Whilst it retained the same identity it had had for a century or more – a military city, a railway city, a chocolate city – the amount of traffic had increased, and was now restricted to one-way along some of the narrower streets, a policeman on point duty at the busy junctions. A programme of sandblasting had been set in motion, and the blackened walls of historic monuments had begun to regain their original splendour. Such improvement, though, was in some part obliterated by the department stores that had sprung up everywhere, their concrete edifices much less appealing than their luscious contents.
With never such choice before her, Nell drew similar pleasure as her daughter in treating Nina not only to shoes, but a blouse and skirt, a can-can petticoat to go beneath, and American Tan stockings. Although Joe had instructed her to buy herself a dress too, with her happiness gaining momentum at each purchase, she said on a whim to Nina, ‘Let’s buy you one instead!’
Nina was not one to turn down an extra treat, but felt it was only polite to show hesitation. ‘You’re meant to be finding something for yourself – and Dad might be annoyed when all your money’s been spent on me.’
‘Pff!’ came her mother’s gay reply. ‘You leave Potato Pete to me.’ This was the nickname she had given Joe, him being so keen on gardening. ‘Anyway I can’t find anything I like.’ Secretly, though, there was a deeper reason for this, Nell having no wish to make herself more attractive to a husband whose half-hearted attentions were tiresome enough, without encouraging him by dolling herself up. ‘He probably won’t even notice.’
* * *
However, she was surprised when Joe took her to task. ‘I told you to get a dress for yourself – I was going to take you out.’
‘Sorry, you should have said …’ Nell looked apologetic.
‘Never mind,’ conceded Joe with a sigh. ‘It was only the pub.’
‘Oh well, nothing spoiled then – and it’s a good night on telly,’ she reminded him.
He gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘Well, if you’re not bothered …’
‘No, I’m so much happier having spent it on Neen. She’s getting to be a young woman, with an eye to impress.’
‘And it would’ve been a wasted effort for you to try and impress me,’ came Joe’s perspicacious remark as he turned away.
Nell looked hurt, and opened her mouth to deny it, but then instead gave an awkward little laugh, and turned away as well.
The purchase of that dress seemed to have meagre significance at the time, but now, a year later, Nell wished she had never bought it. Not just because she had only seen her daughter parade it the once, before relegating it to a drawer. No, it was not just this waste, but the fact that it had only served to drive a wedge into the crack that had appeared in her marriage. There was no animosity, not in the least, but once Nina had gone to bed on an evening there was little conversation at all between Joe and his wife.
And nor would there be, thought Nell, with me stuck in the house all day. So, with Nina being out at school from seven thirty in the morning till four in the afternoon, to broaden her own horizons, and because she had begun to miss it, she decided to return to nursing.
Joe put up no objection to his wife working part-time. ‘So long as you’re here when we get in – I wouldn’t half miss that smiling face of yours.’ And he gave her his blessing with a pat on the cheek.
Though it had been lovely to work at the fever hospital, the bad memory of her final days there still festered – no matter that Nell might try to lock this away with all her other painful thoughts, she could not help but relive it from time to time, and she had no desire to encounter her old a
dversary again. Being informed by Beata that Sister Pike was still in residence was enough to make her turn to older haunts. The Infirmary that had become the Grange was now renamed St Mary’s, though no cosmetic remedy could prevent it from being easily identified as an old Union workhouse. Inside, though, it had changed for the better, the wards being brighter, and smaller, and, amazingly, one or two of the residents were still there.
‘Why, Cissie Flowerdew! Do you remember me?’
Blank eyes perused her for a moment, then the elderly cleaner broke into a smile. ‘Hello, Nurse, did you hear I’m getting married?’ At which Nell had a good old chat with her before going along to Matron’s office – a different matron, of course, for Miss Fosdyke had long been retired. Blanche who’d scrubbed the floors was long dead too, but to Nell’s delight on that first day back on the ward, she found that little Connie Wood, her favourite, was there, aged ninety-five, but still possessed of that bright little face which had so endeared her to Nell and others, though completely bedridden now.
Nursing had changed a lot in the eight years Nell had been away, and it took a while to ease herself back into the swing of things. But the job itself was still the same one she had loved, with all its sadness and humour, and there was the added bonus of being able to share this with Joe at the end of the day, giving husband and wife something serious to discuss, or to laugh about, rather than sitting in silence before the TV.
Yet it was always Nina who was privy to these tales first, upon coming home from school. For there was nothing Nell loved more than to hear her fourteen-year-old daughter’s hearty laughter when she related what had been said that day; the excuses the old folk came up with for their unsanitary habits.
‘There’s one old girl wraps all her business in sweet papers.’ Nell put on a frail little voice to mimic the culprit. ‘She said, “it’s the bread and jam that makes me do it, Nurse!” I told her, “It’s very odd that no one else’s comes ready wrapped!”’
An Unsuitable Mother Page 39
